Lots of People Name Their Swords
by M. the Inspector
Summary: Slight Hound fix-it for the end of Season 4. (You know your life sucks when death is considered a fix-it.)


**A/N: I cling to the Gravedigger Theory and pray that HBO is going to leap on it ASAP next year. But, in the meantime, I needed some sort of a fix-it.**

**Warning: This is not a very fixing fix-it! But it's better than nothing.**

* * *

It was a horrible noise. Low mindless distress, like a sick cow. The noise was sending chills up her spine, and whatever was making it was big, so she drew her sword when she stepped around the rock just to be safe.

It turned out not to be an animal at all, though. It was the Hound – still alive, somehow, half a day after she'd pushed him to his death.

He was stirring a little. Tossing his head side to side weakly.

She'd never seen a man this gruesomely injured _still alive._ After half a day.

The rocks crunched under her feet as she approached, and his eyes opened. He grunted what might be a question, and she came closer. "It's Brienne of Tarth," she said. "...Again." She wasn't sure what greeting was appropriate. Wishing him the seven blessings seemed a little absurd.

He spoke again, and this time the words were intelligible. "Thank the gods. Fuck." His face screwed up in pain as he shifted – trying to raise his head, it looked like. "Arya. She with you?"

Brienne swallowed. Something... was not right, here. Perhaps it was just pity, given the man's sorry state, but for a moment she thought he sounded... "No," she said. "I'm still looking."

"F-uck." Even his swear words had hitches in them. "I- told her to find you. Not to-... go it alone. She said-..." He bit his lip, rode out whatever pain had stopped him. "-Said she didn't need saving. Thinks she's so hard, that one. Silly bitch." He choked out a laugh. "Kills an enemy like- no one's business. But she-... didn't have it in her... to kill a friend."

...And, there it was. _A friend._ Not the kidnapper everyone said, the raper they suggested. He was her friend. _Mother have mercy._ No wonder Arya had hid behind him, and run away from the person who'd done... this.

"_You'll_ do it, though," he rasped with certainty. "It's only right. I'd do it for you." He coughed, gagged up a mouthful of blood. It ran down his face, and he hardly seemed to notice. "Did a sloppy job," he gasped. "You lazy cunt. Left a man half-killed. That's no way-... to end a fight. Fucking finish it." His face spasmed. He said: "Please."

She knelt down by him. Her throat was so thick she had to swallow again and again before she could force out a word. "Ser..."

His whole body jerked, drawing one of those awful noises again. "Stop it. Not a ser."

"You were-... you _were _watching over her."

He huffed. "Aye. Like I said."

She couldn't breathe. "What have I done," she whispered.

"A piss-poor job of killing, looks like." He showed teeth, not in a smile. "Make an end. It's bad."

His voice cracked there at the end. His suffering was awful and the fact that it was her fault was, for the moment, beside the point. She had to act. "Yes. Of course." His breath whooshed out, relief, and then hitched in what she knew to be a sob. She looked away; surely he would not want her to see him cry.

When she did, she saw Podrick, standing there useless as ever. With all their supplies. "Would you like some water?" she said.

"Aye. Wait – you have wine?"

She nodded. "Yes. Podrick," she called, and beckoned.

At that the Hound stirred and flung a hand out towards her. It fell on her boot and he squeezed. "I could kiss you."

"Please don't," she said, and opened it for him. Held the skin up and poured slowly, then let him have it faster when he started to gulp.

He drank an amount that amazed her, for a man in his condition – even arched his neck up towards the end, as if the liquor was giving him strength. When he was done he fell back, groaning. "Dear gods that's good. More mercy than... I'd ever hoped for, at the end." He licked his lips. "Go on: give me the blade now."

She almost couldn't bear to make him wait, but she had oaths to fulfill. "All right, but... I want to find Arya. Is there anything you can tell me about where she might have gone?"

His eyes had drifted closed and he was mumbling.

"_Clegane,_" she snapped at him.

His eyes didn't open. "Sandor," he said. "You bloody killed me, you can-... use my name."

"Sandor, then. I want to find Arya. Where do you think she's gone?"

"Fuck." He shifted. "More wine. Another sip and I'll-... tell you whatever you want to know."

She gave him as much as he could handle. Afterwards he went still and for a moment she feared he'd just _died._

"_Arya,_" she said sharply.

"Arya," he mumbled back. Drifting.

"Where is she? Where were you taking her?"

"Where," he muttered, lip curling. "Where not. We tried... to go to her mother. Mother died. We tried the aunt. Aunt died. Then she said... her brother at the Wall." He choked on laughter. "Didn't think we'd make it-... and if we did... he'd prob'ly be dead too." A smile played around his mouth.

He'd had care of her all this time. All this time Brienne had been hunting for Arya Stark, certain and terrified she'd find a lone corpse in a ditch somewhere, and all the time, this man had been conducting her across Westeros, back and forth, looking for a place to keep her safe.

And now she'd _killed _him – horribly – and Arya had fled alone.

But where? There was no time to torture herself now, not when the only information she had was slipping away before her eyes. "So then... Sandor? If not the Wall, where will she go now?"

It took him a few tries to make himself heard. "Braavos," he said. Thick and indistinct. "She... wanted to go to Braavos."

"And... you were taking her there?"

"Aye. Trying."

She felt sick. "Oh, gods..."

He opened his eyes and moved a little, arching up to look. "For fuck's sake," he gasped. "You women... All the same. Stop crying... and give me what you owe me."

"I'm not crying," she lied. She drew her dagger.

"Pfff," he scoffed. Drooled more blood. "Fuck that. Give me the good stuff." For a moment she didn't understand, until he rolled his eyes and slurred: "_Your sword._ Valyrian steel's the only way to go."

"Of course." She rose, drew Oathkeeper and held it up to the light. "I will find Arya and I will protect her," she said. "For the oath I swore her mother..." (..._And for Jamie, which you would not appreciate..._). "And for you."

He nodded. "Do it."

She pushed the blade through his heart cleanly and he died with just a sigh.

Afterwards she cleaned Oathkeeper before sheathing it. His blood wiped right off without a trace, but it didn't help.

* * *

The End.

**There. Man, you know your life sucks when death is considered a fix-it.**

**Let me know what you think! Over the last few weeks I've suddenly become an unstoppable Hound Fanfic Machine. I am totally going to get fired from my job if I don't stop writing and get back to work...**


End file.
